


Everyone wants to change the world (but no one wants to die)

by Fauna96



Series: Other Places [3]
Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Gen, Jakob is mentioned, Mr Button and Asmira too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fauna96/pseuds/Fauna96
Summary: Kitty shifted nervously her weight from one foot to the other. The simple suburban little house looked like a gallows platform to her eyes, which she was absolutely forced to climb up. True, she would have asked Asmira, who gladly would have made her a favour; but Kitty would have felt an awful person sending her roommate to recover lock, stock and barrel from her own house. After all, they were just ten minutes.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Na na na ( Na na na na na na na)" by My Chemical Romance

Kitty shifted nervously her weight from one foot to the other. The simple suburban little house looked like a gallows platform to her eyes, which she was absolutely forced to climb up. True, she would have asked Asmira, who gladly would have made her a favour; but Kitty would have felt an awful person sending her roommate to recover lock, stock and barrel from her own house. After all, they were just ten minutes.

She took a deep breath and rang the bell. She hadn’t wanted the keys of the house anymore, in a stupid fit of pride.

She knew her mother was home at that time, so she waited patiently until a shadow showed itself hesitant; the woman’s face appeared behind the door, half joyful, half embarrassed. – Kathleen! What a surprise, love! –

 - Hi, mum – Kitty forced herself to smile the most sincerely possible. – I’m sorry to bother you, I’ve just come to take some things I’ve... forgotten –

Her mother hurried her to get in, starting chatting without break, probably to mask her embarrassment. Kitty every while emitted approving sounds where required, all in all grateful to her mother: she either wasn’t exactly at her age.

It wasn’t passed so long since she lived there (her home in any meanings) however circumstances had been stormy, using an euphemistic.

At the time, she had just come out the reformatory.

 

They weren’t called reformatories anymore, but the concept was that one; Kitty have passed one year and half in there and, even though she hated with all her heart Dickens, she couldn’t help but sympathize a little with those little orphans he wrote about. Alright, she had turned up in there for fair motivations, she wasn’t willing to quibble about that: she had made mistakes and had paid. On the other hand, _obviously_ no one had ever refused to give her food (God, how much she hated that pathetic little boy) still, it had been hard.

Her parents, of course, had always refused to accept that their only daughter at thirteen had joined a gang of vandals and then, a couple of years later, been sent to a correctional institute; at the time, when she was a little more than a pissed off teenager, Kitty had felt sincerely betrayed by her parents: not only they had denied her their understanding before all the business (that was one of the causes driving Kitty to spend time with bad companies) but also they had restricted themselves to treat her as some good for nothing, again without trying to understand her.

Now that she had reason to believe herself a little wiser, Kitty understood that her parents were just terribly worried about what people thought about them and that they couldn’t afford a tearaway daughter. That didn’t mean Kitty had forgiven them: it was difficult getting over all the loneliness and suffering she had felt; so, once back home, she hurried herself to leave and make herself the most independent possible: she was good in that. So, at not quite eighteen years, Kitty shared a pretty decent apartment with another girl and worked as assistant for an old retired professor. She had reduced to the minimum the contacts with her parents, except for indispensable things.

\- What do you need, dear? –

Kitty was climbing the stairs to her old bedroom. – Just some clothes, mum. And some books –

Mr Button, which Kitty worked for (that hated being called “professor”) had taught History for all his life and at the moment was analyzing how Richard III’s character was described in textbooks. Mr Button liked historic characters with bad reputation. Anyway, he had pleaded Kitty to bring him her old textbooks and notes too, for curiosity and probably for quibbling once again against his former colleagues.

Going down with her arms laden, Kitty found her way blocked by her mother. – I’ve made tea, Kathleen. Come and tell me –

It was exactly the last thing Kitty wanted, but she couldn’t say no; so, she found herself sitting in the old kitchen, observing the depths of her cup of tea.

\- How’s work? – her mother asked, encouraging. It was a safe topic and Kitty was glad about it. – Well, mom. Actually, Mr Button himself asked me these books... he’s fine, by the way. Once in a while, his leg bothers him –

\- And your roommate? Arina? –

\- Asmira – Kitty corrected, slightly annoyed. – She’s fine too –

The next topic would have been Jakob, doubtlessly, but she was saved by the sound of the door opening. Her father.

The man came in the kitchen and at once an expression forcedly neutral painted on his face.

\- Kathleen –

\- Dad –

If her mother had (almost) forgiven her, her father had not. He was the kind of person grown up in a particular way and he intended to grow up his daughter in the same way; he had never tolerated Kitty had taken another path.

For herself, she felt nothing but impatience in his regards. Maybe it was just because of that she had left as soon as possible: it irritated her seeing how her family carried on staying close in its ideas, without forcing itself to look over.

She didn’t miss the chance for leave. – I have to go. Thanks for the tea, mum – she kissed her cheek hurriedly, returned her father’s awkward nod and, carried up her stuff, headed herself out.

She didn’t hate her parents, not at all. Rather, there were moments when she missed them. However, she couldn’t stay with them anymore, ready for a grey future. She admitted to herself that at the moment she wasn’t doing anything so great... well, not yet. She wanted... wanted... she didn’t know for sure. Sometimes she felt terribly childish in thinking about changing the world, still... She had always wanted to do it. At the beginning, she had taken the easier road, the destruction one; now she was trying to create something; she was taking History and Politics classes, she was getting seriously involved in actuality...

She thought about Jakob, then Asmira, who had to make way with tooth and nail to show an immigrant girl was worth something. Then she thought again about her parents, closed in their suburban house, safe from everything. No, she wouldn’t be reduced like that, ignorant and oblivious of the world surrounding her.

Sitting on an uncomfortable bus seat with a box on her knees, Kitty Jones smiled.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- You didn’t pay, sweethearts – the girl said with a threatening grin. The tank didn’t say anything, but his dimensions were more than telling.  
> Kitty threw a look towards Fred and Stanley, that were displaying little intelligent faces; idiots: wasn’t it ever happened before? Because the idea of turning up in the bouncer’s clutches didn’t thrill her at all, she hurried to take the situation in her hands.

As much as it bothered her admitting it, part of her current life was owed by Bartimaeus. And Queezle too, but Queezle was a certainly less annoying person than Bart, so it didn’t bother her. It was undeniable, though, that it had been Bartimaeus who had offered her a place in their home when she had found herself unwanted in her house and friendless, and him again who had introduced her to Mr Button. Nevertheless, he was and remained a pompous idiot.

The relationship with Bartimaeus and Queezle wasn’t begun in the best of ways: at thirteen years old, when she was part of the little thugs’ gang, they were used to enter bars, order something, and then slide out without paying.  At the time, obviously, the fact had mattered a lot for Kitty, while presently she considered it as much as dumb kids’ stunt.

Anyway, a rainy evening in the half of autumn, they were come in a little pub ( _The Other Place_ ) and they had been caught. Maybe because there were few people, maybe because the blond girl serving was more attentive than her colleagues; point was that they found the exit blocked by her and a black-skinned tank.

\- You didn’t pay, sweethearts – the girl said with a threatening grin. The tank didn’t say anything, but his dimensions were more than telling.

Kitty threw a look towards Fred and Stanley, that were displaying little intelligent faces; idiots: wasn’t it ever happened before? Because the idea of turning up in the bouncer’s clutches didn’t thrill her at all, she hurried to take the situation in her hands. – Stan, you twit! You said you were going to pay! –

Thank goodness Stanley shook himself from the trance. – Oh yeah! But... I went to the restroom and it passed my mind. And... – he ransacked in his pockets with a desolate face  - I really think I’ve forgotten my wallet – Bastard. Pity the scheme couldn’t work because she didn’t have more than three pounds herself.

\- That excuse was already old at my gramps’ time – the blond girl commented with a risen eyebrow. – You pay or you stay here all the night cleaning up – she threw a look at the tank beside her – There’s no need telling I’m not joking -.

\- They’re just at the right moment – a cheerful voice said, and Kitty saw the barman getting near, a slender boy with thick dark curls. – Someone has clogged the fleabag. I was going to send Jabor – he addressed a dazzling smile towards his colleagues – but having three young volunteers... –

Kitty had removed the details of the night: it had been long and agonising, especially because of the barman’s boundless patter; it was terrifying how much chit-chat he could saddle her with every time he bumped into her.

The episode was filed quickly by Kitty’s mind under “extremely unpleasant things” and the barman became one of the most annoying, cockiest and jerkiest people she had ever met. But the affair ended here.

Only that it hasn’t ended here, not really, because a pair of years later she found herself in the same pub, served by the same irritating guy.

\- Have we met? –

Kitty raised her eyes unenthusiastic from the bowl of very oiled chips to meet the barman’s light and sharp eyes. She stared at him for one moment, uncertain if he was trying to pick her up or he was honest, then he made her a big smile. – Of course! You’re the girl who wanted to get out without paying! On your own this time? –

In a flash, Kitty returned to her old life, remembering indeed the pub, the blond girl serving at the counter and him, the chatty and annoying guy.

\- Oh – she murmured – Yes. I’m sorry for that time, I was just a stupid kid -.

\- No problem, honey. In the end, after all, you did pay – he winked. – Bartimaeus, anyway. My name is Bartimaeus. –

Kitty would never admit it, but, essentially, she was alone. Jakob was gone, she wasn’t going to contact her old friends... and Bartimaeus and Queezle had come like a breath of fresh air. Queezle in particular, because Kitty had never had a real girl friend; she had always been a tomboy with her knees scratched and dirt-stained, fighting with boys. Queezle, instead, blond-haired and pleasant-faced, gave really the idea of a dolly. That she was not at all, obviously: she was smart, cheeky and cheerful and, especially, the most foul-mouthed person she had ever known. She and Bartimaeus seemed to know each other for a lifetime and divided a two-room apartment near the pub, where Kitty had slept for some time.

She had been really touched by their generosity; in that apartment they were almost tight being two, she didn’t have the money even to contribute to grocery shopping, but they had welcomed her open-armed. Of course, their schedules were impossible, Bartimaeus didn’t know the meaning of the word “tidying”, but everything was better than the chill ruling in her house.

Currently, instead, her roommate was tidy and systematic, maybe even too much in respect to Kitty, that was much calmer and more serious than a few years ago but she had still some difficulties doing the laundry or something like that.

Probably Asmira was like that because it was part of her job too: she was an important businessman’s personal assistant, as well proprietor of _The Other Place_ locals. Asmira paid the bigger part of their rent, which Kitty hated, despite her friend’s reassurances of earning much more than the necessary: it was a matter of principle, Kitty Jones hated depend on anyone. But, if there was a thing she had learnt in the last years, it was stopping being ashamed of needing help.

While going up the stairs, she felt her mobile vibrating against her thigh.

 

_Bartimaeus_

_Hey Kitty :) One these nights D &D session? I’ve found another player too :D_

_6:09 pm_

 

Oh no! Beside the fact that they _did not_ play at _Dungeons & Dragons, _but at a version completely invented by Bartimaeus, who did whatever he wanted with rules and players... yes, okay, it was funny because he made voices and faces, but he was the most ruthless and asshole person who had ever done the Dungeon Master or whatever it was the Bart-variation.

 

_Who did you blackmail?_

_6:12 pm_

_Hey! I’ve kindly invited him and he accepted. He’s a kid I’ve saved from being kidnapped a few nights ago. His name is Ptolemy and I think you’ll like him._

_6:14 pm_

_Just don’t bully him or something like that. Y’know, he’s a bookworm and seen your history, I wouldn’t want you get back to the old ‘gimme your lunch, nerd’_

_6:15 pm_

_Fuck you Bart_

_6:18 pm_

_♥_

_6:19 pm_


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was raining and Kitty was coming out from the Public Library in that moment, cursing the weather, Mr Button, his missing leg and above all his laziness. She was trying to open the umbrella without letting fall the books she was holding, when she noticed a familiar silhouette: Ptolemy, in the midst of a group of boys, twice taller than him.

Kitty wasn’t a person ready to make friendship at once: she always took a while to like someone, imagine trust them. Yes, she was suspicious and nitpicking, but she had enough experience to know that behind the friendliest smile there was someone ready to backstab you.

But, because for every rule there is its exception, her certainties were shattered when she had met Ptolemy. He was a little slip of a thing that reached barely her shoulder and, before meeting him, Kitty would have doubted of the existence of a person like that.

He seemed truly incapable to say one bad thing (the fact that he wasn’t vulgar at all didn’t help) and neither to think it. It was really impossible not loving him or, at least, Bart and Queezle wore him out in every possible way; about him, it was clear he adored Bartimaeus like a little brother and they made really a weird duo, the two of them: Bartimaeus, tall and self-confidant, a cigarette and a curse between his lips, and slim Ptolemy, good and polite, with his nose stuck in a book.

After the delirious _D &D_ game, Kitty had found herself involved in a very serious conversation about the condition of school libraries. – You understand – Ptolemy gesticulated – No one cares. _No one._ There should be, I say, a committee and instead it’s just Nathaniel and me –

Kitty struggled to concentrate of the boy’s river of words, above all to avoid watching Bart trying and flirting with Queezle (his bloody roommate. How much you could be an idiot?). – So, let me understand: just you and another student take care of the library? Of loans too, etcetera? –

Ptolemy seemed embarrassed. – We… yes, we do. I mean, we try. But we end up talking about books… You know, at home there isn’t anyone I can talk with and… - he shrugged  with an half smile. – I’ve tried many times and spoken with school council, but they don’t care… and it’s a private school. How the things work at yours? –

\- Oh I… -

\- Kitty doesn’t go to school – Bartimaeus participated suddenly. – She’s a rebel, her, fresh from community. You should be careful she didn’t steal your money for lunch, Ptol-

Kitty threw him a fire glance; Queezle hissed a “did the slap stun your brain?” and Ptolemy blinked disoriented.

Kitty sighed. – No, I don’t go to school. Yes, I’ve been in a community home and after that I haven’t attended anymore – she coughed – It’s not a thing I wanted to talk about… not like that -.

\- I’m sorry – Ptolemy opened himself in a truthful smile – And… there’s no problem, really –

Kitty returned the smile, feeling a little lighter. She knew there wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, however every once in a while her weaker part, the one still attached, despite herself, to her parents’ teachings, betrayed her. And yes, she often found herself again afraid of other people’s judgement, above all that kid’s, whose eyes instilled uneasiness.

\- You’re so dumb – Bartimaeus had commented later, while he was giving a ride to a still flared up Kitty. – Really did you believe I’d hang out with snob and classist people? -

\- Maybe you should just learn to not speak about other people’s business? –

Bartimaeus threw her a sidelong glance. – Listen, Kitty: you’ve been in community and Ptolemy hasn’t. You’ve given up school and he hasn’t. I’ve never attended school nor Queezle, do you know that? So, who’s the outsider here? – In spite of everything, Kitty let a smile slip out. – I mean, community hasn’t made you a three-headed monster! – he sneered – You were already.

 

At their next meeting, Ptolemy had brought her three tomes to borrow.

\- You’ll like them – he said, putting them in her arms like they were kittens – Especially Orwell, obviously, if I’ve understood you well… -

And so on. Ptolemy seemed to own an immense library, comparable maybe to Mr Button’s one (which, surprise! Ptolemy was an inveterate reader and admirer of) and he was always more than happy to lend o even gift books right, left and centre. He was always cheerful and kind with everyone, but… there was sometimes like a shadow on his slim face, like a dozing worry.

During a sleepy afternoon at the pub, while Bartimaeus and Queezle experimented new cocktails possibly not toxic, the conversation had fallen on that.

\- His family’s fault – Bartimaeus had muttered, smelling cautiously the mixture. – Big assholes, Kitty, believe me. Queez, do you think apple juice would go? –

\- What does that mean? – Kitty investigated.

Her friends exchanged an hesitant look. – Well – Bartimaeus started careful – I’ve told you I’ve recovered him from running away from home, haven’t I? They, I think, treat him like the black sheep, like the useless one –

\- I think he feels very lonely – Queezle interjected – In my opinion, it’s because of that he always brings something to read.

 

The conversation whetted Kitty’s curiosity, but she kept her mouth shut: if Ptolemy had wanted to open up to her, he would have done it; after all, they didn’t know each other for a long time, there were all the reasons for a little bit of discretion.

Unluckily for Ptolemy, there wasn’t time to build up such familiarity. It was raining and Kitty was coming out from the Public Library in that moment, cursing the weather, Mr Button, his missing leg and above all his laziness. She was trying to open the umbrella without letting fall the books she was holding, when she noticed a familiar silhouette: Ptolemy, in the midst of a group of boys, twice taller than him. Kitty had just taken a step that the boys left laughing and she could see Ptolemy holding hard the strap of the bag… because of what? It didn’t seem they were trying to rob him, so… It was fear or… anger?

The kid had his hair stuck to the forehead, so Kitty didn’t see immediately his eyes; they were icy, hard, like she had never seen them, pinned on the group. Then, Ptolemy met her gaze and his black irises softened recognising her.

Kitty covered the distance still dividing them and hurried to shelter him with her umbrella, finally opened. – Were they bothering you? –

Ptolemy shrugged. – As always. They were my cousin and his friends.

 

Ptolemy didn’t like coffee, so Kitty treated him to a cup of tea and a cinnamon roll at the bar behind the corner, and watched him play with the teaspoon until he gave her a tight smile. – My family is a big mess. We are a lot and, if it wasn’t enough, my grandfather is the typical patriarch: we live almost all together, like a clan. He _loves_ traditions, family… I should say lineage, actually – he made a face – I don’t get along with anyone, my father is often gone for work… they usually ignore me and I reciprocate. But with my cousin… - Kitty nodded and he shrugged. – You know, he has the same name as me, but it’s the only common thing between us. We may be family, but it means nothing at all in this case –

Kitty suddenly felt a strong desire to hug him, for how much he appeared alone and vulnerable; but when she saw an hard sparkle as steel in those dark eyes, she understood that Ptolemy didn’t need it.

\- It was worse when I was younger: I didn’t know how to react. But now I’m sick and tired – he pressed together his lips, looking determined. – I should have really left, like my mom… but Bartimaeus stopped me, as you know. He was the one who gave me courage, in some ways. –

However Kitty, looking at him, was sure that courage was already in him: just waiting that someone would give him a friendly slap to pull it out.

She didn’t say it, though: she limited to smile to him, tell him her own crippled familiar history and offer him half umbrella to go home.


End file.
